Page 5 of The Protector’s Promise

Kenneth managed to surprise her.

“You will get yourself killed if you ride off alone,” he mumbled. Then he shouted to the others, most of whom were apparently already awake. “We leave, now.”

Marion smiled, grateful she would not be forced to extreme measures. And although their path was only lit by moonlight and their pace was slow, their efforts were rewarded.

Just beyond a thicket of trees, barely discernible but growing larger as she approached, stood a lone figure beside a horse. Without a word to Kenneth or the others, Marion spurred her mount forward, for she knew at once this was William Thornhurst, the Englishman who’d stolen the Stone of Scotland. Her stone. Or rather, her countrymen’s stone and the one that would bring peace and prosperity to them. She felt it pulling her closer.

When she was nearly upon the thief, he pulled out his sword.

Would he kill a woman?

When she halted in front of him and dismounted, Marion thought two things at once.

The cold had not gripped her as she’d expected it would.

And the priestess had been right . . . he was quite handsome.

* * *

It was only when the riders behind her came into view that William drew his sword. Four men following a woman.

Though not just any woman.

A redheaded, green-eyed beauty who appeared as if she’d like nothing better than to murder him.

“Give me the stone,” she demanded in a seething voice. He couldn’t reconcile her voice, so commanding and low for a woman, with the smattering of freckles across her nose. Had the priestess sent this group after him?

Her guards were getting too close. Four. I need an advantage.

Without hesitating, he reached out and grabbed the Scotswoman—her accent left no doubt that she was one—and spun her around. Just as her men approached, he lifted his sword until it hovered just beneath her chin.

“That’s close enough,” he shouted. Not surprisingly, her men stopped far enough away to give him a few moments to consider his next move.

“Let go of me!” The way she twisted in his arms and brushed her bottom against him made William suddenly wish he wore a hauberk. This was not a convenient time for an arousal, though he could certainly understand his body’s response.

“Stop moving,” he whispered in her ear. “Or I will kill every one of your men.”

She complied. Perhaps she assumed he meant those words, though in truth he did not. Though he did need the stone, even if he did not understand why.

Rather than cower, however, as a woman in her position should do, the woman lifted her chin and continued to issue orders.

“Give me the stone,” she demanded.

“A bad idea, old man,” William shouted to the apparent leader of the guards, who had begun to dismount. He tightened his grip against the redheaded woman.

“You have two choices,” he tried to reason with her. “Forget the stone, and ride off with your men when I release my grip. Otherwise, you’re coming with me.” It was the only way he’d maintain any kind of advantage.

She apparently did not care for either choice.

Turning to her men, she shouted, “He’s not going to—”

He moved his hand swiftly from her shoulder to cover her mouth. When she tried to bite him, his gloves prevented any damage.

Moving toward his horse, William thought of how best to get them mounted and away from her guards. He envisioned each possible maneuver—and its follow-through—and decided in a trice. Once again, he did not hesitate. With his sword arm, he grabbed the horse’s reins, and he swung himself up with his other hand, never releasing his grip on the woman. Blocking out the sounds of her guards’ advance, he sheathed his sword and pulled her up and in front of him.

“Continue to squirm and you’ll fall. Sit still . . . you may survive the day.”

Thankfully, it was enough to stop her. For now. But the others were nearly upon them. And though William had crossed the border into England earlier that day, this was not a familiar path to him. Looking for an escape, he relied on speed to put distance between himself and his would-be attackers.